


To Wish Impossible Things

by coloursflyaway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Isaac looks at Peter, he doesn’t know what he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wish Impossible Things

When Isaac looks at Peter, he doesn’t know what he sees.  
It’s the strangest thing, because his eyes have never been better, his senses never keener and yet Peter seems to be always shifting, almost fluid, untouchable. And maybe that’s what draws Isaac to him, the impossibility to touch him in any way. If he wants to figure Peter out or wants to become like the older man, he doesn’t know.

Whatever it is, though, Isaac is being obvious, because Peter notices with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in his eyes and Isaac finds he doesn’t mind. He isn’t hiding his curiosity, just like he has stopped hiding a lot of things these days, and after all that Peter has done, to them and to others, interest is the least thing he should expect. And the older man doesn’t seem to care anyway, just like Peter doesn’t seem to care about most things, and it’s another thing which Isaac cannot seem to figure out, how the other can not care and care so much at the same time.  
Because it is clear that Peter cares for someone, something, and Isaac needs to know who, what, _how_.

 

Maybe the only way he can care nowadays is by chaos, by destruction, Isaac thinks to himself as he watches Derek go quiet and seething under his uncles gaze, will his claw out and drag them over the older man’s cheek, drawing blood for a few moments, creating thin, red lines which grow longer as they reach out for his jawline; fishing lines to catch Isaac’s attention.  
Some invisible force stops them and reels them right back in, together with Isaac’s lingering eyes and it’s only when he sees the smirk on Peter’s lips, the hidden amusement in his eyes that Isaac knows he’s hooked.

And he is, truly is, although at first it’s more a lingering feeling of expectation, of knowing that Peter doesn’t only knows, no, that somehow, because of some bizarre reason Isaac doesn’t understand, the other is interested in him too, or at least in Isaac’s interest for him.  
Of course, nothing of it is spoken out loud, but Isaac would never have expected that, no, it’s hidden behind the sarcasm dripping from Peter’s lips, in the little smirks he shoots in his direction when Isaac is staring without noticing, the two or three winks in between. It’s in the way Peter does his best to rile Derek up, throwing out more and more fishing lines.  
They catch Isaac, every single one of them, or maybe it’s Isaac who catches them.

It should be intimidating, it should be strange, since that is what Peter is supposed to be, but the more Isaac watches, the less frightening the older man seems to become. Not less dangerous, not less unpredictable, but Isaac notices that sometimes, Peter just steps back and watches instead of meddling, sometimes he drops a hint and lets them work it out themselves so they can revel in the glory of their discovery. And a few times, Isaac catches him with a smile on his lips which isn’t quite a smirk anymore, not fond but bordering on it, only to have the older man turn and look back at him, eyes asking what Isaac expected instead. Those times, he can almost hear Peter’s voice echoing in his head, dripping venom and promising sweet things.

 

For some reason, Isaac expects it to stay like this, with smirks and teasing, both of them watching, dancing, but of course it doesn’t. And this time it is not because Peter seems to be ever-changing and fluid and impossible to grasp, but because it’s Isaac who starts to transform.  
Again, it’s simple, small things at first; how he catches himself listening for Peter’s heartbeat when he comes home from school, how he starts to try and find ways to somehow integrate the older man into the conversation without even noticing, how he changes his posture, his stance when Peter enters the room, turning more towards him and less towards the rest of the pack.  
It’s a strange kind of attraction which is neither purely physical nor purely psychological, something between them and something which is more than that, still.  
Isaac wonders if Peter feels it too.

There is another thing though, which Isaac notices.  
Up until now, _pack_ has smelt of Derek and Scott, of Erica and Boyd and maybe sometimes, when he was in a good mood, a bit of Stiles; of dry earth and the heavily scented soap from the boys’ locker room, of late night snacks and tension. It still does, but there is another smell which never used to be associated with anything that could feel as _safewarmhome_ as his pack does, mixing with the rest, layering over some parts and making as many disappear as it brings with him. Suddenly _pack_ smells like Peter too, like the other’s eau de cologne and the faint trace of smoke which sometimes lingers on his breath although Isaac has never seen him with a cigarette.

 

There are still hardly words exchanged between them even as weeks pass, but it fits, and Isaac doesn’t mind it because slowly, Peter changes too. Maybe just to see how he will react – Isaac wouldn’t put it past him, never – but for now it seems to be enough to even make Peter see his reactions in the first place.  
Which part it is he really wants the other to see, he doesn’t know.  
But Peter sits closer to him now, looks at him more often, a question written all over his face and Isaac knows that he is waiting for something, but is unable to find out what it is.

Peter waits for another month and Isaac still can’t figure out for what, even if the gazes grow more frequent, the raised eyebrows and half-smiles, and maybe, he thinks, maybe it’s because they don’t talk. Then again, maybe it’s the question which keeps them from talking in the first place.

When it happens (it because it’s something which has never happened and won’t ever happen again) Isaac is slightly annoyed and even more exhausted because they just had what he has come to call a pack meeting – all of them huddled together in the living room, sometimes fighting, sometimes staying silent, sometimes talking – and Derek is mad, Scott is missing and when Isaac finally gets up and walks out of the room, it feels wrong because he is moving farther away from Peter’s heartbeat, from his smell.  
Which might be why he lingers afterwards, in the hallway, trying hard not to listen to whatever it is they are still talking about and in the end he avoid listening so hard that he misses Peter’s heartbeat as it grows louder, moves closer.  
He only notices when the other is only a few metres away, breathing and pulse both loud and clear as he leans against the doorframe; amusement, interest and superiority making his eyes sparkle. And then there is the question, written in big, bold letters across Peter’s forehead, on his cheeks beneath the stubble and Isaac desperately wants him to ask.

“Been spying?”, Peter asks and sounds so nonchalantly that Isaac wants to tear something apart. It’s maddening because even though he has been paying so, so much attention, he still can’t read Peter, not even now, not even a little.  
Isaac shakes his head because he momentarily forgot how to speak, doesn’t look at Peter but instead at the wall beside him, close enough to still notice when the older man pushes himself off the wall and takes a step closer, then another one.  
“Are you sure?”, he asks and it’s not the right question so Isaac pretends not to have heard it at all. He should leave, he knows that, but every single of Peter’s heartbeats is keeping him fixed here, unable to move at all.  
“Because I could have sworn I saw you doing exactly that. Watching. Listening.” Peter smirks and Isaac can hear it in his voice, although he still can’t bring himself to look at the other directly. “I’m just not sure yet why. You’re remarkably hard to figure out, pup.”

And here it is again, that nickname which Isaac can’t ever place e, because he doesn’t know if Peter uses it as an insult or a term of endearment.  However, right now, in this moment, it doesn’t matter because Isaac doesn’t want to be _pup_ , not when Erica is _pup_ too, when Peter calls Boyd that, Scott sometimes, hell, even used it for Derek once or twice.  
So he tells Peter that, forcing his eyes to meet the older man’s. “It’s Isaac.”  
Peter smiles in a way which is utterly and completely disconcerting and looks more like the man he has been warned of than the one he has been watching for weeks now.

Still, Peter doesn’t seem fazed by the words, not at all, just like he never does, instead just takes another step closer and Isaac can feel how his breaths grow shorter.  
“Alright then, _Isaac_ , what is it that makes you watch me? Is it fear? Or caution? Or do you just have a crush on me?”  
With every word, Peter takes a step closer and as much as he couldn’t look at him before, Isaac can’t look away now, his eyes fixed on Peter’s. The other’s smile is feral, more wolf than human and Isaac’s own wolf responds to it, growls at Isaac as if he expects him to see something he still manages to overlook.  
“Tell me, Isaac, what goes on behind those innocent blue eyes of yours?”

There is something about the way Peter says his name which he doesn’t like, somehow both threatening and teasing; strangely seductive in a way which makes Isaac’s toes curl and the tips of his fingers tingle with the beginnings of claws breaking through.  
And, oh God, he can’t remember when it was so hard to speak the last time, to summon words which fit and mean the right things, actually, which mean anything at all.  
“I don’t…I don’t know what you are talking about”, he manages at last, a sad excuse for an answer, Isaac knows that, but it’s still better than saying nothing, than letting Peter continue to talk. Because Peter has a way with words, more so than anyone he has ever met and Isaac just knows that if he lets him, the older man will talk him into whatever it is he wants him to do without even batting an eyelash.

 

For a moment, Peter just looks at him, calculating, as if he expects to find some trace of a lie in Isaac’s eyes, but then his eyes soften the slightest bit – it is only because Isaac has spent so much time looking at them that he even notices – his lips curl at the edges, almost unnoticeably as well. “You really don’t, do you, pup?”, Peter asks and this time Isaac doesn’t correct him, because it’s a term of endearment now, definitely is, and he has never heard Peter call Erica or Boyd that.  
Has never even heard him call Derek any name in this voice.

The question on Peter’s face starts to fade and Isaac almost wants to ask the other to tell him what it was, since it feels like something he should have known for at least the last month, but there are no words coming because Peter is moving, fast and determined and it’s only when Isaac’s back hits the wall that he notices he has been stepping back, trying to keep a distance which seems to have grown shorter and shorter each day.

In the end, Isaac doesn’t think he would have gotten away even without the wall hindering him, because the closeness is intoxicating, Peter’s heartbeat so close he can feel it move the air around them, can taste it on his lips.  
“Let me show you”, Peter says softly (because Peter doesn’t mutter, doesn’t whisper, not ever) and traps Isaac with his gaze and his body and the loud beat of his heart. It has quickened and Isaac knows it’s because of him and still can’t quite believe it. Maybe, he thinks…

And then he doesn’t think anything at all, can’t, because Peter doesn’t lean in, he falls and takes Isaac with him until he is pressed flushed against the wall, against Peter, the other man’s lips his stealing his breath away.  
It’s not a kiss, because a kiss is gentle or passionate, loving or rough and the way Peter’s lips ghost and slide and press against his own, his teeth nibble and bite and tug and his tongue prods and licks and soothes is neither and all at once; it’s violent, the force Peter puts into the not-kiss enough to make Isaac forget to even respond for a few moments or a few more, but Peter doesn’t seem to care.  
And Isaac realises what this is, what it really is; a claim that Peter is laying on him, and Isaac doesn’t mind.

Instead, he tries to lay his own claim on Peter; maybe he fails because the other chuckles against his lips (the vibrations are worth it, oh, they are), but that doesn’t stop him from trying again, sucking on Peter’s lower lip, his hands slowly, tentatively coming down to settle on the other’s hips, not pulling him closer because Isaac doesn’t know if he wants to. Not yet.  
He’s been hooked for so long now, but this fast and strange and different than he expected and he still can’t read Peter at all.

He doesn’t get to decide though, because after what can’t have been more than half a minute, Peter pulls away again, breathing heavily and his eyes flashing with hunger and lust and amusement. He licks his lips and Isaac’s eyes follow the movement, the pink tongue wetting pink lips and it’s all he can do not to lean in and press their lips together again, maybe this time in a proper kiss.

It’s not as if he had a lot of experience and he can still imagine just how Peter would kiss, passionately with just a hint of the strength he obviously possesses to keep control, his teeth teasing his bottom lip just shy of painfully. Peter would kiss in a way which would make him lose his breath and quite possibly a bit of his mind too; and yet he would kiss so that after pulling away, he would still not be sated.  
Or at least, Isaac thinks, that's the way Peter would kiss him, how he would or already has kissed other's doesn't seem to matter at all.

Right now, though, right now Peter doesn't kiss him at all, right now he takes another step back and the gaze he shoots Isaac is another fishing line, only that this time, it's not blood which hooks him, but Peter's swollen lips.  
If he wasn't lost already, he'd be now.

Isaac's breath hitches and Peter grins, stretches pink, tempting lips into an even more tempting smile and he wants to follow, wants to at least take one step towards the older man so the distance between them at least won't grow wider.  
And he would, if it wasn't so clear that it's not what Peter wants him to do, not at all. So instead, he stays put, right where the other has left him and allows clear, bright eyes to rake over his body, observing the damage Peter has caused.  
Because damage it is, even if one which Isaac isn’t quite sure he minds, especially not when there is the hint of delight, maybe even pride shining in the older man’s eyes, as if the look on Isaac’s face, his surely just as bruised lips are a work of art he has created.

He expects Peter to leave without another word, maybe, if he’s lucky with a wink, but none of that happens, instead Isaac watches the other’s eyes go soft and calm again, not twinkling anymore but almost glowing in the dim light. When the sun set, Isaac can’t even remember.  
And then Peter moves in, one step where Isaac would have needed two and apparently, he has been wrong the whole time. Because when Peter kisses him, it’s neither rough nor passionate, no teeth or an exploring tongue, just lips pressed against lips and a hand resting lightly on Isaac’s hip. Again, he is too stunned to even react, and again, Peter doesn’t seem to care, instead kisses him for a few, short moments and pulls away before Isaac can kiss him back.

The touch still tingles on his lips, but Isaac doesn’t move, just watches as Peter takes one step back, his lips still smiling and his eyes sparkling again; the gaze is no fishing line because there is no need for catching Isaac anymore.  
“You know where you’ll find me, pup”, he says and turns, leaves Isaac standing in the middle of the hallway with his lips parted and his hair mussed, his heart beating with a rhythm too fast to recognise, but his feet slowly starting to move on their own account.  
Because Peter has claimed him and might just be waiting for Isaac to claim him in return.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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